


We're The Miltons

by DeadHero



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Drugs, Found Family, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Road Trips, Romantic Comedy, Sibling Bonding, Sorry guys, Unrequited Love, bastardization of the french language, i didnt read paradise lost and im not gonna its too long, we're the millers au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 04:20:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20370580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadHero/pseuds/DeadHero
Summary: "Pretend to be my husband to smuggle marijuana across the Canadian border.""I thought you were just a book hoarding drug dealer."...In which Aziraphale Fell is a bookdealer turned drug dealer turned drug smuggler, and with the power of weed, an RV, and various mishaps on Canadian back roads, he manages to find a family.





	We're The Miltons

The phone was ringing.

Aziraphale looked at it disdainfully. He sighed and picked it up. He gave it another long and suffering stare before clicking the green button.

"Hello?"

_ "Hey, yeah, Mr. Fell, it's me." _

Aziraphale eyed his first edition copy of Paradise Lost. "Yes, Mr. Pulsifer, what can I help you with?"

_ "I, uh, well, I know I just saw you, but I got mugged, and, well-" _

"I can come over in an hour," said Aziraphale.

_ "Oh! That's great, alright then, I'll see you then?" _

"Yes." Aziraphale hung up. He sat for a moment and pursed his lips. If he wanted to be at Mr. Pulsifer's flat in an hour, then he really needed to leave in the next twenty minutes, and he needed to gather his things…

He stood and grabbed his book before shelving it where it belonged and went to look for his coat.

…  


Mr. Pulsifer welcomed him inside with a relieved grin. "Oh, awesome, you're here."

"Yes, well, I did say I would come." Aziraphale brushed his shoes on the bristled doormat. He walked in and Mr. Pulsifer wandered into the kitchen.

"Would you like some tea, Mr. Fell? I just picked up some Earl Grey at Walmart since I know you don't drink coffee."

Aziraphale dropped his bag on the ground and peeled out of his damp coat, hanging it on the back of a mismatched armchair. "Yes, thank you, Mr. Pulsifer. Milk and three sugars."

"You really can call me Newton, you know," Mr. Pulsifer called out. Aziraphale ignored him and sat down on the sofa. He dragged his bag over to him and rifled through it. He placed three small containers on the scratched up coffee table and sat very primly in wait.

Mr. Pulsifer soon came out with the tea. He nearly tripped twice on his way to the sitting area, and, had Aziraphale been a different sort of man, he would have offered assistance. He looked on very tiredly instead. 

Mr. Pulsifer sat the serving tray down with a clatter and sat down on the opposite couch with an eager air. Aziraphale picked up his tea and sipped at it, raising his eyebrows with what might have been judgment if anyone cared enough about what he thought of them.

He took another dainty sip before placing it down. He cleared his throat and Mr. Pulsifer startled, some of his coffee spilling onto his trousers. Mr. Pulsifer didn't seem to notice. Aziraphale refrained from sighing.

"Well, then to start with," Aziraphale picked up the container to his left, "this strain is more for relieving anxiety, more medicinal in nature one might say."

He picked up the middle one. "This is more standard, it's the strain you usually purchase from me."

And then the last one on the right. "Finally, this is a sleeping aid. Take it right before bed and put down your phone or you'll just stay awake from the blue light—"

"Actually I have an app for that," interrupted Mr. Pulsifer. "It creates like, a warm filter? It's really quite neat—" he cut himself off at the sight of Aziraphale's disdainful look. "Shit, sorry. Please continue."

Aziraphale waited a moment before saying, "Right, well, it's a sleep aid, in the short of it. The usual cost for each container."

Mr. Pulsifer nodded before standing to dig around his pockets. He pulled out a faded wallet along with several receipts and gum wrappers that fell onto the floor. Mr. Pulsifer grabbed several bills before handing them to Aziraphale. He then bent down to pick up the pocket trash.

"Do you want to stay and take a hit? I just cleaned out my pipe and really, I am grateful for you coming out all this way."

"No, no thank you, I still have to make my way home," Aziraphale refused. He stood and deposited the container with the sleep aid into his bag. He pulled on his coat and made his way to the door. He glanced back at Mr. Pulsifer, who was still gathering garbage from the carpet. "Have a good evening, Mr. Pulsifer," said Aziraphale and he walked out of the apartment.

"It's Newton!" Came the muffled call through the closing door. Aziraphale sighed and made his way down the stairs and out of the building. He trudged his way down the busy sidewalks and momentarily—very momentarily—entertained the idea of actually selling his books instead of this dreadful criminal business. 

The thing was that Aziraphale had never meant to become a marijuana seller. A drug dealer. He had never partaken in college, never had any friends who did—not that he really had any friends at all—and certainly hadn't expected to ever come into contact with drugs in the slightest. Yes, he might have enjoyed a bottle of vintage wine or a nice scotch a little too much, but that was legal. Aziraphale had only come into the trade because he hadn't wanted to part with his books but simply needed to pay his bills. Thus, the drugs.

As he came closer to his bookshop, he saw a man smoking on the stairs of an apartment building clad in exceedingly tight leather pants, heels, and some black band t-shirt. Aziraphale rolled his eyes at the obscene view and meant to walk past the man without a word, but unfortunately was stopped by a rather long leg sticking out in front of him.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and glanced at the man from the corner of his eye. "Hello, James." 

James smiled at him. "Hey, Aziraphale. How's the bookselling business?"

Aziraphale knew that James knew that _Aziraphale knew_ that _James knew_ that Aziraphale sold marijuana and that the man wasn't actually asking about books. He sniffed. "Fine, thank you. How's your," he waved vaguely at the length of the other man, "business?"

"Oh, you mean stripping? Just dandy, as always," James replied lazily. His golden snake-shaped nose ring glinted in the sun. "Never a lack of women or gay men who want to throw money at a handsome stranger on a pole."

"Right," said Aziraphale. He eyed the leg in front of him. It was still there and wasn't wavering in the slightest. _ Must get some kind of muscle toning from sliding up and down all night _, Aziraphale mused. "Well, I really must be going—" he tried to push past the leg but was pushed back. He turned to fully face James and sneered. "Can I help you with something?"

James smirked, like the self-important twink that he was, and said, "I don't know, can you?" 

Aziraphale flushed and deliberately kept his eyes from wandering around the tight, rolled-up t-shirt sleeves. "Absolutely not," he said firmly. He went to leave again, but was rebounded. He gave another glare.

"Can _ I _ help _ you _ with something?" asked James. He was smiling with a bit tooth and Aziraphale could see his sharp left incisor. 

"No thank you!" Aziraphale’s voice broke. 

The leg dropped.

"Well alright then," James said as Aziraphale bustled by with speed. "Nice seeing you!"

...

It was hours later when Aziraphale heard metallic clanging and jeering coming from the alleyway.

"Oh, for Heaven's sake," he whispered. He eyed the bookshop's side door that led to the alley and weighed it against the warmth of his cocoa mug in one hand and the heft of his book in the other. There was the distant sound of yelling.

Aziraphale exhaled heavily and placed his book and drink on the side table and stood up. As he hurried over to the door, the noise volume increased. He opened the door to peek outside and was met with quite a scene. 

Three people all stood from several inches to a foot taller over a young girl, wearing a rather bohemian outfit, and tossing a bag around that presumably belonged to the girl, given how it matched the clothes. 

"Hey, give it back idiots!"

"Whatcha gonna do, witch lady? Hex us?"

The bullies cackled as the girl kept trying to catch her bag; it was the rudest game of monkey in the middle and she was ‘it’.

_ Christ, what is there, a mugging epidemic? _

"Hey!"

The muggers stopped tossing the bag and looked to the alley mouth. Aziraphale tried to see, but couldn't tell who the newcomer was from his angle. 

"Just what do you jerks think you're doing?"

The voice came closer and Aziraphale could finally see who it was. And, unfortunately, he knew him.

Adam Young stood there with his fists on his hips and ever-loyal hound growling at his heels. His eyes flashed in the dim light like the superhero he acted like and with all the confidence of a teenager. A deadly combination.

Especially, Aziraphale groaned to himself, in this scenario because one of the muggers just flicked out a switchblade. Well, now he _ had _ to step in or he'd never hear the end of it from his guilty conscience.

He opened the door and all of the young people looked his way. The girl rolled her eyes, the bullies looked skeptical, and Adam lit up.

"Mr. Fell!"

"Yes, hello Adam," Aziraphale greeted tersely. He carefully stepped to the side and closed the door behind him. "Hello everyone. What seems to be the problem?" _ That you have to hash out beside my bookshop _, Aziraphale added mentally.

"None of your business, old man."

"Yeah, buzz off you weirdo."

"Oh, he's not weird!" said Adam brightly. "He's actually pretty cool!"

Everyone else snorted, even the girl who was in the process of being robbed. 

"Yeah, right, what does he do, sell drugs?" One of the muggers asked offhandedly but then became very interested when Adam didn't refute her claim and instead fidgeted. "Ohhhhhh," she drawled out. She and her compatriots turned towards Aziraphale, dropping the girl's bag on the concrete in favor of getting closer to him.

Aziraphale laughed nervously and reached backward to turn the doorknob, but stopped when a knife was suddenly pressed against his throat. His wide eyes met the mugger's and he swallowed roughly.

"I think that you should show us your drugs. Now," the mugger demanded.

Aziraphale looked beyond her and saw Adam and the young girl running off. _ Why do I even bother _, Aziraphale thought. "Alright," he said. "Let's go inside."

* * *

**Day One**

It was a few days later and the diner was bustling. Aziraphale stared out the window, a cup of watery tea growing cold in his palms.

He had been forced to give over everything he had. He had no marijuana, no money, and no dignity (at least none of the muggers were literate enough to understand the worth of the antique books that made up his home). And worse was that he was now steeply in debt with his boss? Supplier? Either way, Aziraphale owed the man quite a lot of money for all of the drugs and had no way to pay him (he got into this mess so he wouldn't have to sell his books, he wasn't about to sell out to get out). He was supposed to pay his due yesterday.

He sighed and collected his things. If he was facing imminent consequences, he wasn't going to do it in a sticky booth with subpar caffeination. He left several bills on the table and left the diner where he was promptly grabbed by two people. A feminine black person held his left arm and a stooge-ish white man held his right arm. A black cloth bag was dropped over his head and Aziraphale was dragged into a car.

…

Aziraphale blinked rapidly when the bag was taken off. He now stood in a big, bright room with high ceilings and grotesque religious art that hung on the wall behind a massive, wooden desk.

"Aziraphale! So good to see you!" A masculine and cheery voice came from behind. Aziraphale strained to smile as his boss came into view. 

"Ah, Gabriel. Pleasant as always," he greeted. He then spotted the giant plastic sheet on the floor and jumped. "Oh please don't kill me, that'll be such a hassle."

Gabriel looked at him funnily as he lounged onto his desk. "Kill you?"

Aziraphale gestured at the floor and Gabriel laughed. "Oh, that! Oh, no, I wouldn't kill you, at least not here. I just had a skylight put in." He pointed upwards and Aziraphale looked. There was indeed a rather expansive skylight. "All the better to see the Lord's light," Gabriel added with a wide smile.

Aziraphale nodded. "Ah, right, well then, if you're not going to kill me, I really ought to be off—" he started to turn around, but the man who helped kidnap him forced him back.

Gabriel cocked his head. "Just because I'm not going to kill you doesn't mean there aren't any consequences, buddy. I mean, you owe me a lot of money."

"Look, Gabriel, I got robbed by a gang of thieves, they had a knife!" Aziraphale reasoned. "They took all of the marijuana, they took not only your money but all of my cash savings, I have nothing to my name!"

"You have your books, don't you? Those are puh-retty expensive right? Just sell a few of those and we'll be golden," said Gabriel, who apparently was an idiot.

"I can't sell my books, I won't sell them." Aziraphale puffed up his chest and tried to look brave.

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "Look, you have, hmm, three options. No, four, well, no, I don't want to kill you, let's say three definitively."

Aziraphale grimaced.

"You can either sell your books willingly, or I can have Sandalphon and Uriel here," Gabriel gestured to Aziraphale's kidnappers, "go sell your books for you."

Aziraphale's eyes widened in horror. "That's absurd!" He shouted, his hands trembling. "I won't allow it!"

Gabriel was at all impressed by his little display, he didn't show it. "Or, I have a job you could do. It's a big one, a really big one. It will settle your debt and I'll even pay you extra, say a hundred."

"A hundred what?"

"A hundred grand, duh," Gabriel snorted before growing serious. "I gotta have you agree before I tell you though, and no backing out!"

Aziraphale fidgeted. "As long as I don't have to hurt anyone, I suppose I accept."

Gabriel clapped his hands together. "Awesome. Alright so here it is," he waited for a dramatic beat, "you're going to smuggle drugs into the country."

Aziraphale spluttered. "Excuse me?"

"You see, my regular guy, Raphael—great guy even if his heads up in the clouds—got caught by customs and is in federal prison, and I don't like him enough to get him out, so I need a new guy for this job. Just this one job! You do this and then you can go back to your regular life of drug dealing," Gabriel explained, gesturing grandly as he did. "The place is up in Canada—"

"Canada?" Aziraphale couldn't help but interrupt.

"Yeah, Canada. Why? Were you thinking Mexico? Please, I know you're old but there's no need to be racist—"

"—I'm not racist, it's just in the books this type of thing—"

"Oh, you and your books," Gabriel groaned. He scoffed before continuing, "Anyways, yes, Canada, I have the address for you right here, and you'll be picking up under the name Ligur Beaulieu."

"Ligur Beaulieu?"

"A pseudonym, gotta have a French name or the bastards won't respect you, you get it," Gabriel explained offhandedly. "In any case, I'll be expecting you in a month’s time since it’s really out there. Here's the address." Gabriel scribbled onto a sticky note and pressed it into Aziraphale's hand.

Aziraphale looked at the address uncertainly. "How much am I picking up?"

Gabriel smirked. "Oh, y'know, just a smidge."

…  


Aziraphale now sat on the bookshop's stoop, flask in hand, and silently stewing over how to smuggle drugs across the Canada-U.S. border. Adam sat next to him, root beer in hand, and decidedly less silently giving suggestions.

"You could hollow out some of your books and store it in them," said Adam.

Aziraphale took a long drink. "No, I don't think so.”

"Oh. Well, what about digging a long tunnel—"

"Dear boy, I only have a month to not only get there but get back with the delivery. I'm not digging a bloody tunnel," Aziraphale said firmly.

"Oh."

There was a beeping sound and the two of them looked towards the road. An ugly silver RV had rolled up and the driver—a mustachioed man with novelty sunglasses perched upon his head—was leaning out the window.

"Hi there! Do you know how to get to the aquarium? We're going to see the dolphins! Such gorgeous mammals!"

"Not only are dolphins fish, but please, move along, you can't park here," Aziraphale called out.

Adam looked at him strangely, but Aziraphale ignored him. A woman was now leaning over the driver's shoulder.

"Hey, we're just looking for the aquarium! Our GPS died and we've never been to this city's aquarium and we sure are looking to make it, our whole family is here!"

A young girl and a young boy waved at Aziraphale and Adam from a back window.

"Look—" Aziraphale started to say, but a police officer showed up. Normally he hated the police, but in this instance he was rather grateful. "Oh perfect, officer, you must tell them—"

The cop held up a hand to quiet him, so Aziraphale sat back down.

"Look, sir and ma'am, this is a public road, not a parking spot, so you need to keep moving or I'll have to ticket you," said the policeman.

"Oh, no need for that, officer. We're just tourists looking for directions to the aquarium!" The driver reiterated with a cheesy smile.

The policeman changed his tune. "Oh well sure, I can tell you which way to go—"

Aziraphale stood up rapidly. "My god, that's it!"

Now everyone looked at him strangely. Aziraphale had no time for that, he'd had an epiphany. "Have a nice visit!" He called out and bustled into his shop, Adam hot on his heels.

"Oh, this will be perfect—"

"What will be perfect, Mr. Fell?"

He whirled around and clasped Adam's shoulders. "An RV! For smuggling! A family trip, a customs agent wouldn't look twice at it!" Aziraphale turned back around to start searching for his phone. He needed to rent an RV and to reserve plane tickets, and to at least ask Gabriel to pay for all of this it wasn't like Aziraphale had any money—

"And where are you going to get a family?"

Aziraphale deflated. "Oh bollocks." He wrung his hands. He didn't have any family, no friends, not even any associates who he might be able to call upon.

"I could be your son if you'd like?" Adam offered. "I mean, I do owe you for busting your business."

Aziraphale frowned. "Oh, I couldn't possibly—"

"Mr. Fell, I'm eighteen, I'm technically an adult. And," Adam added, "it'd be cool to have an adventure to tell once I go to college in the fall."

"But what about your actual parents?" Aziraphale protested.

"Out on a couples retreat until the fall, and my sister is taking a summer term for research at her college. I'm the only one home besides Dog," said Adam.

"Oh, well, alright," Aziraphale folded. Adam cheered softly with a fist pump. "But what are we going to do about the rest of this family?"

Adam smiled crookedly that showed off his slight tooth gap. "I know someone."

…

"This is Anathema, she's the girl from the other night," said Adam.

In front of Aziraphale was indeed the girl from the other night. Given the lighting last time they'd met, Aziraphale was only now able to get a good look at her. She had light brown skin, and long, dark brown hair pulled up into a half-bun. Big, round eyeglasses were perched on her nose that complemented her rather bum chic wardrobe. She also carried a heavy-looking messenger bag.

They eyed each other skeptically. Anathema turned to face Adam. "This is the drug smuggler," she said flatly. He nodded. She gave Aziraphale another judging look and he felt like a bug in a collection. Anathema finally nodded. "Right, then, no thanks." She spun on her boot and walked down the sidewalk. Aziraphale looked at Adam and the boy looked helplessly back and shrugged. Aziraphale huffed.

He jogged down to be in front of Anathema and stopped her. "I'll pay you five hundred dollars," panted Aziraphale. God, he hated jogging. She raised an eyebrow. 

"I'm nineteen and I have a doctorate, I'm not stupid. I want a thousand," she said.

"Wait, if you have a doctorate why would you do this at all?" Aziraphale asked.

Anathema exhaled through her nose. "Student loans."

Oh, well that made sense.

"Alright then, a thousand," Aziraphale agreed and they shook on it. They walked back to Adam who was texting on his phone. He looked up.

"Oh, nice. Okay cool, guess we're siblings!" He said with a broad smile. The kid even had dimples for Christ's sake. He went to hug Anathema, but she gave him a look before acquiescing for a moment.

"Okay, now get off," she said.

After that was all sorted, Aziraphale gave Anathema her plane ticket he'd finagled Gabriel into purchasing and they traded phone numbers.

On the walk back to the bookshop, Adam asked, "So who's gonna be the other parent? Because I don't know any adults."

Aziraphale groaned loudly.

…

The music was booming and the lights were flashing at a rate that would have made an epileptic seizure within thirty seconds. Not to mention the tables were absolutely filthy. Aziraphale had regretted this part of the plan since its conception.

A body sat down on the table and Aziraphale looked up to see James. Apparently, the club's theme for the night was Biblical, given the little horns perched on James' head. His cheeks were glittery and his eyes shone gold and the flashing lights were so striking against his dark skin—

Stop it.

Anyways.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. "Hello, James."

"Aziraphale," James drawled out, clearly delighted. "What brings you to this fine establishment?"

"You, actually. I have a proposition," said Aziraphale, eyes darting away from James' face.

"Oh?" A hint of a smile.

"Yes, well, you see—"

"Hey, James! Room three when you're done with the librarian," a voice called out. "Wants the Special!"

James gave a thumbs up towards the unknown speaker before turning back to Aziraphale. "You were saying?"

"You're a prostitute?" Aziraphale blurted out. His hand covered his mouth and he blushed deeply. "I'm, but, that's illegal!"

James shifted, leaning backwards and he crossed his arms. "Yeah, well, stripping doesn't pay rent anymore. Like, a) awfully presumptuous for you to assume that. I could just be giving a really fancy lap dance. B) there's inflation, and my landlord is practically a leech. And besides," he shot Aziraphale a pointed look, "it isn't like what you do is anymore legal."

Aziraphale stammered for a second before James sighed. He placed a light hand on Aziraphale's shoulder and he shut up. "So, what were you saying?" James asked.

Aziraphale swallowed. "How would you like to pay your rent for years without ever needing to do," he waved vaguely, "that?"

James leaned in. His hand was still on Aziraphale's shoulder and he could feel it scalding him. Or was it just hot in here? Probably was heated to keep the strippers from freezing as they unclothed, Aziraphale reasoned.

"I'm listening," said James, lowly.

"Pretend to be my husband to smuggle marijuana across the Canadian border," Aziraphale said in a rush. His ears burned.

That could've gone smoother.

James' jaw dropped. He sputtered and was suddenly much less suave than he'd been a second ago. "Are you shitting me," he hissed. "I thought you were just a book hoarding drug dealer."

"I am!" Aziraphale protested, whisper-shouting. "It's just that all of my goods and all of my money was stolen and my boss made it quite clear it was either this or my books would be sold."

James shook his head incredulously. "You and your books."

Aziraphale blushed. "Well, they're quite dear to me."

"You're such a weirdo," said James in a voice that one might have called fond if Aziraphale didn't know any better. "What are you, the guardian angel of old books no one's heard of?"

Aziraphale stared at him wordlessly, blinking rapidly. 

James' smile left and he sat more properly on the table, his hand leaving Aziraphale's shoulder. His skin felt cold now. "Alright, so how much are you gonna pay me? After all, this is a big deal federal crime, smuggling drugs and such."

"Fifteen thousand?" Aziraphale offered weakly. James scoffed.

"Try doubling that."

"Thirty?" Aziraphale asked more out of disbelief than confirmation.

"Sure, that'll do it. Alright, when do we leave?" James grinned.

"Uh," Aziraphale turned in his seat to pull the plane ticket out. He handed it over to James, who scrutinized it. "The flight leaves at seven in the morning, so I and our, quote-unquote, children are going to arrive at the airport at a quarter to five. My boss insisted on a redeye flight."

James nodded. "Alright, I'll be on that plane." He got off the table. He leaned over Aziraphale—James’ chest pressing into his shoulder—for a second before Aziraphale felt something pushing against his skull, like a headband. James smirked. "I'll see you there, angel."

As James sauntered—yes, _ sauntered _. It was like the man had no spine—away, Aziraphale could see a devil's tail hanging over the waistband of James' leather pants, swinging like a pendulum. He reached up and pulled the headband thing off and in his hands was a glittery and feathery halo.

"Right. See you there," Aziraphale said faintly.

* * *

**Day Two**

"Are you sure you don't want me to do it, Dad?"

Aziraphale gritted his teeth as he shoved to get their carry-ons into the above head storage. "No thank you, Adam."

Adam shrugged and Anathema raised her eyebrows before looking at an old book she had taken out of her carry-on bag. Aziraphale desperately wanted to get his hands on it, but when he had even shown any interest in it, he had been cut off and glared at. He huffed at the memory and then huffed again as he tried to shove the luggage up.

And where was James anyways? The man had said he would be on the plane, but here everyone was, on the plane with the boarding about to be closed, and no James in sight.

Something pressed against Aziraphale's back and the carry-ons were smoothly taken from his hands and inserted into the storage.

"What the—" Aziraphale turned around and now something was pressed along his front. The something being a smirking James, of course. "Oh, it's you."

"It's me." James smiled fully now, showing teeth. He backed up by an inch and cast a look over their seat row. "Wow, our kids, huh? Awfully...preppy," James commented.

Adam piped up. "Well, obviously, Dad, after all, we're two good, never been in trouble, completely innocent little kids."

"Never been in trouble?" James raised an eyebrow. "Well, you absolutely look it."

And the kids did look it. Adam had abandoned his fun sneakers and comfy street clothes for loafers, khakis, and a light pink blazer that looked very nice against his freckled brown skin and bleached high-low fade. Anathema hadn't done quite as well, but she at least looked suburban teen hippie rather than young urban witch; she now wore a white long sleeve where the original sleeves had been cut off and replaced by pieced together fabric, and a nice pair of jeans with a chunky belt and Birkenstocks.

Aziraphale looked the same as he always did, but he had gone to a barber beforehand so his curls were more manageable. He now looked a little less like "feral librarian" and more like "nerdy dad". He also had a polo shirt and cardigan on.

"What was your job again, _ Dad _?" Anathema questioned with no little amount of snark. 

"I'm a lawyer, remember, kiddo?" James drawled. He was outfitted in a rather nice—if rather tight—suit with the jacket folded over his shoulder, button-down shirt sleeves rolled up, and skinny tie in place.

"Can you please find your seats, sirs?" A polite air stewardess interrupted Aziraphale's staring at... absolutely nothing, nothing at all.

"Of course, ma'am. Alright, let's get seated," Aziraphale sat down and James sat down as well, capping the row.

The flight stewards made their announcements and went over safety protocol and soon they were taking off.

...

Welcome to Canada, read a large sign as they unboarded.

As the makeshift family made their way out of the airport, Aziraphale snapped his fingers. "We need to look like tourists."

Everyone else groaned, but he dragged them to a tourist shop just in front of the exit.

"Look," said Aziraphale. "This whole plan hinges on us being non-threatening, campy, and utterly dismissable. We have to be tourists." He held up two shirts, one with the Canadian flag, and the other with a red and white moose. "Which one looks better?"

James groaned. "I don't care, they're both hideous." He turned away to look at the sunglasses rack. He picked up a pair of sunnies that were also red and white, but also had little, metal, maple leaves embellished on the side.

He heard a delighted gasp from behind him. "What now?" James sighed before gasping himself, but decidedly more horrified. "Hell no, put that back so help me god."

Aziraphale pouted as he held up a red shirt with a moose outline that was filled in with a tartan pattern. "But I _ like _tartan."

James scoffed and went to check on the kids. They were doing fine: Anathema had grabbed a moose scarf and Adam had purchased a 'I Heart Canada' shirt that he pulled over his blazer. Perfectly respectable choices. James and Anathema went and paid and now the three of them were waiting by the store's open exit.

"Where's Aziraphale, uh I mean, Father?" Anathema asked.

James sighed, and he opened his mouth to respond when a voice called out:

"All ready?"

They all turned and collectively shielded their eyes.

"Jesus Christ," said Adam. James couldn't have agreed more. Aziraphale had indeed bought the tartan moose shirt and good lord was it even uglier the second time. James told his fake-husband as such.

Aziraphale huffed. "That's fine because I like it and this is a job, alright, _ not _a fashion contest. Now let's go see if the RV is here." And he bustled away, leaving James, Anathema, and Adam to trail behind him out of the airport.

…

"Well that's... something," Anathema said.

That being the giant, white and gold RV that just rolled up, apparently named _ The Ritz _, the words painted onto one side in matching colors.

The driver climbed out of the vehicle and came up to the group. "I've got this RV for a Monsieur A.Z. Fell?" The woman said in a thick Canadian accent.

"Ah, right here," Aziraphale stepped forwards.

"Alright, well if you'll just sign here—"

While Aziraphale was busy with the last bits of paperwork, the rest of them got into the RV. It was spacy, had a bunk bed and then a big bed above the driver and passenger seats. Just a standard rolling vacation home. James plopped down into the driver's seat and Anathema and Adam settled in the back.

Aziraphale finally shook hands with the woman, the two of them going through a quick oh sorry, no I'm sorry, so sorry, as they kept stepping in each other's way, and then he finally boarded. 

“Alright, we’ve got to make it to the pick-up location by dusk and—” He stopped to a standstill when he saw James.

The man grinned. "I want to drive. C'mon, it's gonna be hours, you don't want to do that," James wheedled.

Aziraphale hemmed and hawed. It was true that he didn't, but he had the oddest feeling. No matter.

He tossed James the keys and got comfortable in the passenger seat. He pulled out a book from his bag and started reading.

…

"Slow down, James! You're going to get us killed!" Aziraphale yelled, clutching the 'oh-shit' handle.

While they had still been in the city, James had maintained a speed of a little over the limit, but nothing too serious. Yes, he ran a red light or two, but Aziraphale rather wanted to read his novel. However, he drew a line when the speedometer ticked well past one hundred.

"You can't just drive 144 kilometers an hour while on a highway, James!"

James looked at him and scoffed. "It's practically open road, I'm not gonna hit anything."

"Eyes on the road!"

James ignored this sound advice. "What's the big deal? It's just—"

"Hey, numbnuts, there's a moose up ahead," Anathema interjected without looking up.

James and Aziraphale's heads whipped around and James slammed on the breaks. The RV screeched and ground as it came to a jarring halt.

The moose looked Aziraphale dead in the eye, calm as anything, with its snout merely a foot away from the windshield. Aziraphale eyed its sharp and large antlers as the animal mosied out of their way to the woods on the other side.

"I think," Aziraphale breathed heavily, "that I should take a turn driving."

James dumped the keys into his hand.

…

“Are we there yet, Father?”

“No, Adam,” Aziraphale called back. He wasn’t sure when he went from Dad to Father, but loathe as he was to admit it, it suited the parent he portrayed more.

“Actually,” James piped up, “we’re pretty close, only about a kilo away.”

“Oh, well, there you go,” said Aziraphale. He turned so he could face everyone. “Alright, game faces on, family. We’re the…” He paused as he realized he hadn’t thought of a fake surname yet. 

“We’re the Miltons,” James interjected smoothly. He patted Aziraphale’s shoulder and turned back around to stare at his maps app.

“Right.” Aziraphale saw his copy of Paradise Lost poking out of his bag. “We’re the Miltons.”

They drove in silence until they came up to a large wooden gate with two guards standing in front.

The guards both took out guns.

“Oh, shit,” Adam whispered from where he peered over James’ shoulder.

“You have arrived at your destination,” James’ phone chirped. They all hushed it as one of the guards came up to Aziraphale’s window and knocked.

Aziraphale rolled it down and it made an awful squeaking. He cringed and the guard grimaced. 

« Pourquoi êtes-vous ici ? asked the guard.

“Hello!—”

\- Êtes-vous stupide ? The guard raised his eyebrows.

James leaned in. 

\- Oui, il est, monsieur, s’il vous plaît mon mari. Nous sommes ici ramasser la marijuana pour Monsieur Ligur Beaulieu.

\- Vous êtes les américains ? The guard raised his eyebrows. 

\- Oui, oui » James replied before nudging Aziraphale. He startled.

“Ah, yes, oui, oui, we are _ les américains _,” he repeated while nodding.

The guard laughed before saying in a slight Canadian accent, “Alright, come on in.” He walked away and waved at someone. The wooden gate opened slowly.

Aziraphale blinked rapidly and Adam and Anathema cackled.

James snorted. “Looks like he was having you on, angel.”

Adam mouthed _ angel _ in the background. Anathema mouthed back _ I know right _. Neither of the adults noticed.

“Well,” Aziraphale said, ruffled. He started driving the RV through the gate and the guard waved at him. He huffed visibly and the guard seemed to yell something to his co-guard in French. There was some French yelling back and Aziraphale huffed again. James laughed silently to himself.

...

“This is quite a bit more than a smidge,” Aziraphale gaped.

A whole crew of Canadian drug dealers was hefting package after package into the RV from the warehouse where it was kept. It was practically an assembly line to stuff the RV to the gills with fresh marijuana.

“How much is all this?”

“A little more than 1,800 kilograms.”

Aziraphale startled and looked towards the unknown voice. There stood a lanky, incredibly pale man with bright, black eyes and what seemed to be a frog tattooed on his temple. He wore a tan macintosh and a black scarf.

“And, uh, you are?”

“The name is Hastur,” the man introduced himself. “I am Monsieur Ligur’s, comment dit-on... _ right-hand man _.” He looked at Aziraphale with a leeching stare.

Aziraphale nodded faintly. “Right, well, I’m sure you must find this work very fulfilling.”

“Not really.”

“Oh.”

A tension erupted around them that lingered as they both watched the crew load up the packages. Finally, a young black man with a rabbit ear-like haircut skipped up to Hastur. « Monsieur, nous avons presque fini.

\- Bon. Dites vos frères de saisir le dispositif de suivi et mettent-le sur le _ erre-veh _, Hastur instructed.

\- Chose sure, _ boss _!

\- Fermez votre bouche, Erique ! » Hastur shouted after the man as he ran off.

Oh, where was James when Aziraphale needed him… for translating, of course.

…

“Aziraphale, where you at? The Canadians are all done,” James shouted as he looked around. He rounded the corner and found his fake-husband. “Well, there you are, come on, let’s get going.”

“Shh, I’m trying to get ahold of—”

_ “Hey, Aziraphale, what’s cracking, buddy?” _A tinny voice came from the phone. Aziraphale held up his pointer finger to James before turning away.

“Yes, hello Gabriel, I just wanted to ask what the _ hell _ is all this?” Aziraphale raised his voice as he spoke into the phone. “This is a bit more than a _ smidge _!”

“_ Well, a smidge and a half? Two smidges? Anyways, you’re still alive?” _

“This is quite a bit more than two smidges—wait, why would you ask that?” Aziraphale’s eyebrows furrowed. James mouthed _ what’s wrong _. Aziraphale waved dismissively at him.

_ “Oh, no reason. It’s just tricky driving up there in all that snow!” _

“It’s July,” said Aziraphale flatly.

_ “Oh, so it is! Man, isn’t summer fantastic, the sun shining, birds chirping, it’s really great.” _

Aziraphale looked back at James, but the man was gone. He turned back to his mobile. “I want hazard pay, Gabriel. This is absurd, absolutely ridiculous. I could go to _ federal prison _ for over _ twenty years _if I get caught and—”

_ “Oh, calm down, Aziraphale, I’ll get you your hazard pay. No need to get so huffy!” _

“I am not huffy,” Aziraphale huffed. “I want—” He looked around again before hissing into the receiver, “—I want half a million dollars.”

_ “Done!” _

“And I—really? You’ll give me 500,000 dollars?” Aziraphale had to make certain.

_ “Sure, no problem, I’ll get you your five hundo, but you gotta get back here on time, no delays or whatever, or no pay at all.” _

“Fine, fine, that’s fine. I’ll see you then,” Aziraphale said very shortly. He had the urge to hang up on Gabriel but refrained.

_ “Okay, see you, sunshine!” _The phone beeped.

“Well,” Aziraphale said aloud. His voice echoed slightly. “That’s that.”

...

“This is a lot of weed, guys,” Anathema peered into the half-fridge. It was brimming with herb-filled packaging.

Adam opened and shut random cabinets that all showed the same thing. “Yeah, Mr. Fell, this is nuts.”

“As long we don’t get weighed, or searched, we’ll be fine,” assured Aziraphale. He pulled out of the gated facility and start going down the rural off-roads that would lead back to the highway. 

“Hey, angel,” said James.

“Yes? And that’s not my name,” Aziraphale said.

“What’s your favorite book?”

Aziraphale felt nauseous at the idea of picking a favorite. “Oh well I couldn’t possibly choose, you know, I read so much and…” he trailed off when he saw Crowley silently expecting an actual answer. “Oh, well, anything by Oscar Wilde, really”

“Wilde, huh?” A small smile appeared on James’ face. “_ Nice _.”

“Oh, hush, you,” Aziraphale swatted at him. “How about you? What’s your favorite?” Turnabout's fair play.

“Oh, I don’t read,” said James.

Aziraphale nearly stomped on the brake. “What do you mean, you don’t _ read _?”

“Exactly that, angel, I don’t read. Never felt the urge to crack open a book,” James replied nonchalantly as if he was simply saying he didn't care for cheese stuffed crust instead of an affront to Aziraphale's whole personhood.

Aziraphale’s mouth opened and closed. He stared at James, eyes squinting as if that would somehow make James admit he had been having him on just like that rude Canadian guard had.

James didn’t meet his eyes.

“Yo, adults up there.”

Aziraphale and James turned to look at Anathema, whose nose was buried in her book. “There’s a cop up ahead.”

“What—”

A piercing shrill split the air. 

James cursed under his breath and Aziraphale stared as the RV came up to a police officer standing next to his motorcycle, just off the side of the road. Aziraphale slowly pulled over and stopped in front of the man. He rolled down his window.

“I don’t speak French!” Aziraphale blurted. He could hear Adam muffling a laugh in the back.

The Canadian officer smiled good-naturedly. “Not to worry, friend, I speak English.” He was rather handsome, Aziraphale noted distantly.

“Oh, thank the Heavens,” Aziraphale muttered. “Well then, hello, officer! We’re the Miltons, just on a fun family trip before our kiddos here go off to college,” he said boisterously. He could almost sense Anathema’s middle finger being pointed at him.

“Ah, _ non _. I don’t think so.”

“Aziraphale deflated. “Whatever do you mean?”

The man grinned. “I saw you come out of the Beaulieu place. You’re no innocent tourists. You’re transporters.”

James swore again, a little louder this time. Aziraphale laughed at a high-pitch. “Hah, yes well, you got us, good chap!” The words tumbled out of Aziraphale’s mouth.

More cursing could be heard in the background.

“Well,” the officer adjusted his belt. “Lucky for you, you had the good fortune to come across me. And, as my friends can tell you, I am a very agreeable man. It’s a Canadian thing.”

Aziraphale laughed breathily. “Splendid. What can I offer you?”

”One hundred Canadian dollars.”

Aziraphale gaped. One hundred? That was what, a thousand American? Aziraphale didn’t know his conversion rates, but he was pretty certain it was high. He turned to James. “A hundred dollars?” He whispered. “What’s that in USD?”

James was bug-eyed. “I have no idea, probably a thousand? I’m a stripper for Americans!” He whispered back.

Well, if James agreed with him on the number then it was probably that. He turned back to the Canadian cop, “We, well, we don’t have a hundred Canadian dollars, I am afraid,” Aziraphale smiled shakily.

The officer hummed. “Hmm, well, there is an alternative.”

“An alternative?”

The man adjusted his belt again.

“Oh,” said Aziraphale faintly. “An alternative.” He then remembered who he was sitting next to. “James, indulge this gentleman so we can get along.”

“What the hell,” Adam said from the back.

James looked at him and, even with his tacky sunglasses, his eyebrows conveyed his disbelief. “Excuse me? Because I’m the stripper? Well, that’s a rather rude thing to say. I’m not doing it.”

“No, it’s because you’re a _ prostitute _,” pointed out Aziraphale. “You literally perform fellatio for money. This is practically the same thing!”

“First of all, I’m a sex worker, what are you, from the eighties? Get some respect,” James said indignantly. 

“Oh, excuse me, so sorry, you’re a sex worker, not a prostitute, a _ completely _ different thing. They’re both still illegal like this whole venture is,” sniped Aziraphale.

James scoffed. “Oh, get a load of yourself—” He cut himself off and stared at the officer. Aziraphale looked to see what was happening and the man was flexing.

Very casually, mind you, just enough so that his sleeve strained around his arm as the officer rubbed his neck and Aziraphale could see just a strip of toned—_ very _toned—skin peeking above the waistband.

“I’ll do it,” said Aziraphale abruptly. He reached to unclick his seatbelt as James squawked.

“Jesus Christ,” Adam commented very loudly from his chair.

“What? What the hell are you talking about, you’re not doing it!” James ripped off his sunglasses in a very scandalized fashion and Aziraphale just raised his eyebrows at him.

“You don’t want to do it, and after a second thought, I don’t mind in the least,” stated Aziraphale.

Aziraphale opened the door and hopped out. He heard James repeating loudly, “In the LEAST. In the LEAST?”

He turned to look at his fake-husband. “Yes, dear, _ in the least _.” Aziraphale slammed the door on James’ slack face.

Aziraphale nodded towards the cop and the man began to lead the way to a rather large boulder where Aziraphale assumed this would all happen. He eyed the man’s backside and Canadians really knew how to go all out.

“What about this being illegal, huh?” James shouted after Aziraphale. He glanced over his shoulder and called back,

“Well someone has to do it!”

Before Aziraphale continued walking, he could have sworn he’d seen James’ eyes widen and cheeks grow red.

...

Now Aziraphale and the officer stared at each other silently from where they both stood behind the rock. Aziraphale bit his lip and the officer stared at his action.

“So—”

“How do you—”

They both stopped and laughed lightly. The officer continued, “How do you want to do this?”

“Well,” Aziraphale started. He sunk to his knees—he apologized to his trousers for the dirt stains that were most likely forming—and looked up. “I would imagine like this.

The cop smiled. “That’s certainly a start.” He placed a hand on the back of Aziraphale’s neck. It wasn’t very comfortable, a bit clammy for his tastes. Aziraphale leaned forward.

“To double-check this, dear boy, I get you, well, _ off _, nice and quick and then we go our separate ways?” Aziraphale questioned.

“_ Dear boy _ , that’s so cute,” the officer said with a grin. Then he chuckled. “And well, not nice and _ quick _ , I am known for my length.” At Aziraphale’s sudden skeptical look, the officer amended, “I don’t just, what’s that American phrase, _ blow my load _.” His smile turned a bit prideful and Aziraphale shifted. “Don’t worry, baby, I got stamina—”

There was a loud crack and then the Canadian police officer fell over onto Aziraphale, who shrieked. He shoved the now unconscious man off him and looked upwards furiously.

“No, baby, you got _ knocked out _,” James crowed from above, holding a giant stick in his hands like a baseball bat.

“_ JAMES. _”

James frowned. “Surely the one-liner wasn’t that bad.” Aziraphale now stood on his feet and glared at his ‘rescuer’.

“Why did you have to knock him out? I had it well in hand,” Aziraphale didn’t whine, but his voice certainly had the quality of a person who had been very close to getting what they wanted.

James cocked his hip. “He’s a dirty cop, he was extorting you—us, I mean. Plus, you’re all about legality and such whenever you talk to _ me _ about _ my _life,” he pointed out. He crouched down and pulled loose the officer’s belt, using it to tie the cop’s hands behind his back. Aziraphale’s ears burned.

James stood and dusted his hands off. He then sauntered off towards the RV, throwing both the piece of wood over his shoulder and a nonchalant: “Are we going, angel?”

Aziraphale gathered himself and followed.

The two men settled into the vehicle. A brief pause.

“Man, I can’t believe you almost sucked that guy’s dick, Mr. Fell,” Adam said vaguely… something. 

Aziraphale was already irritated and this didn’t help. “Better than all of us going to jail, and besides it’s not like we have that kind of money—”

Anathema held up her phone. “You know a hundred Canadian dollars is just seventy-five dollars and sixty-two cents in USD, right?”

Aziraphale and James leaned in to gawk at the screen. There the numbers were. Seven five dot six two, right there on the Google. Huh.

The two looked at each other.

“Huh,” said James.

“Huh,” echoed Aziraphale.

Adam shook his head. “Man, you guys be stupid sometimes.” He left to go lay down in the back and Anathema snorted, eyes already returned to her massive book.

Aziraphale and James turned around to sit properly. “Well then,” Aziraphale said, and off they went.

…

“Oh, shit, stop the car!”

Aziraphale startled and pulled over before slamming the break. “What’s wrong?”

Anathema had her face pressed against the window. “Ley lines,” she said.

James now swiveled in his seat. “Are you on crack?”

He got a dirty look in return. “No, I’m not on crack, thank you very much, James,” Anathema rolled her eyes. She went back to gazing out the window. “This is just a big ley line hotspot. I can feel it.”

“Are you certain you’re not high, because I’ve known a lot of cokeheads and—”

“Oh, come off it, Dad,” Adam interrupted. He had been in his bunk but now came down to sit next to his ‘sister’. “Ley lines are totally real, Anathema explained it to me. They’re like geo-spiritual lines that go all over the Earth and connect things, like, with energy. And they’re invisible, which is super cool.”

“Yes, thank you, Adam,” Anathema sighed but patted Adam’s shoulder. “Ley lines are a bit more than that, but that is the gist of it. I want to go investigate,” she pleaded with Aziraphale.

Aziraphale eyed her. “Yes, and that’s all very interesting, but we’re on a tight schedule and hundreds of miles between us and our expected arrival, so really I must—”

“Look it’s almost dark,” Adam said.

“Very observant.”

“And we’re gonna pull over to sleep, right?”

Aziraphale huffed. “Well, _ obviously _.”

“So let’s just stay here, get some rest,” Adam suggested. “There’s an RV parking lot just up ahead.” He waved towards something and the adults looked to see and spotted a blue attraction road sign that read exactly what Adam had told Aziraphale. James could’ve sworn the sign wasn’t there earlier.”

Aziraphale crossed his arms. “Well, that all may be well and good but honestly.”

“Come on, Father,” Adam wheedled and Anathema looked at him with those doe brown eyes of hers and—

“Oh, fine,” Aziraphale sighed and the kids cheered.

...

It was nearly quiet.

Aziraphale could hear the distant laughing and talk of other campers in the RV park, and there was a faint murmur of frogs wailing into the night, and, if he strained, there was also the chirp of crickets.

He sighed and settled into his fold-up chair that James had found stashed in some compartment. The metal creaked and a few vertebrae popped. He winced.

James hummed from where he was seated a few feet away, and Aziraphale glanced over. The man still had his tourist sunglasses on, and the panes of his face were awash in the soft glow of the RV’s outdoor night-light system. Aziraphale’s eyes roamed over James, taking in the other’s slouching presence. One leg hooked over the chair’s arm, the other sprawled outwardly in Aziraphale’s direction. At some point, the tie had been loosened and collar popped of two plastic buttons. 

Aziraphale eyed the bob of James’ Adam's apple and drifted in a lazy line down the shoulder, following the folds of the shirt and categorizing the play of shadowed white, trailing the circular contrast where cloth met lightly dark-haired skin that just dusted the play of tendons. He swallowed roughly as he watched the dance of jumping veins on the dorsal side of the hand, rolling over the fine bone as James tapped his fingers to an unheard song.

He looked away.

“So, how did you come up with this anyhow?”

Aziraphale startled. “What?”

James was now twisted in his seat to face him, arm propping his torso up that created a negative space that Aziraphale began to trace the contours of—

Stop it.

“What was the question again, dear boy?” asked Aziraphale. James raised his fine eyebrows, but he didn’t notice.

“I was just wondering how you came up with this whole operation,” James explained. “The fake family, the RV, kind of brilliant, a bit out of the box,” he waved his hand towards the RV and in between them.

Aziraphale’s ears burned. “Oh, why thank you. You see,” Aziraphale clasped his hands together and shifted to better see James, “it was right after my boss, Gabriel, informed me of my new job, and Adam and I were sitting outside my bookshop.”

He went on to explain, and when he finished his story, Aziraphale shrugged. “And that is the whole of it, I’m afraid.”

James was now leaning on his hand, chin in palm and head tilted. He opened his mouth a few times and finally said, “Dolphins are mammals.”

Aziraphale snorted. “They’re fish. They got fins, live in the bloody water.”

“I’m serious, dead serious even, in fact, it’s important to me that you know this,” James said while gesticulating. “Dolphins. They are mammals.”

“They are _ not _.”

“They _ are _.”

James and Aziraphale stared at each other. Dark brown to cheap tinted plastic. They both broke at the same time.

“Oh my god, I am not drunk enough for this,” laughed James. He rubbed a hand over his face, pushing the sunnies up into his hair. His eyes glittered before squeezing shut as he slapped his knee. “I can’t believe this.”

Aziraphale giggled as well, but more in response to James then seeing anything funny about this himself. “Yes well, that’s how it is. I could do with some wine, though,” he added thoughtfully.

“I could run over and see if the shop has any liquor,” James offered, pointing his thumb in the direction of the RV park’s 24/7 convenience store.

“I’m not sure we should be drinking around children,” Aziraphale said. James waved him off.

“They’re little grown-ups, they’ve probably had a drink by this age anyhow, especially Miss Little Ph.D.,” replied James. Then he stilled, straightened in his seat, and said, “Where are the kids, anyway?”

Then there was a faint scream. They looked at each other.

“I could hazard a guess,” said Aziraphale.

…

The Canadian forest was frustrating, Anathema decided. Her pendulum (passed down through her family, made of quartz crystals and silver) was acting pretty wonky. It was wildly spinning around, from East to West, North to South, clockwise and counterclockwise, going around in arcs then loosely spinning before shooting upward without cause or reason.

This place was brimming with energy, Anathema just knew it.

“—so then, me and the Them, and of course Dog, we went over to Mr. Tyler’s backyard and started painting the apples, with washable paint obviously, wouldn’t want to actually hurt anyone, and we were supposed to also paint the tree itself we were gonna do this flaming cool design Wensley came up with but then Mr. Tyler must’ve heard us, or maybe he can secretly see through walls, hey do you know if some people are able to see through walls?”

Anathema shrugged with the shoulder not attached to the arm holding the pendulum. “I don’t think so Adam, it’s rather unlikely.”

“Oh. But unlikely doesn’t mean impossible.”

“Adam, I’m trying to concentrate.”

“Oh sure, no prob, I’ll be quieter.” There was silence, but Anathema could feel Adam’s want to ask more questions growing and bubbling behind his lips. She sighed, but then smiled a bit. 

“Alright, Adam, what’s your question?” She stopped walking and turned to face her fake brother. Adam lit up, her flashlight outshined by the sheer excitement and curiosity in Adam’s eyes. 

“Could you explain ley lines to me again? I think I messed up explainin’ it to James and Mr. Fell earlier and I wanna know how it works.”

Anathema grinned. “Okay so, ley lines.” She sat down on a log and Adam plopped down on a stump next to her. She grabbed the pendulum and piled it into her palm. “Ley lines are metaphysical lines of energy that span the globe and a lot of times monuments are built on them, unknowingly by the architects. And when they converge, there’s a lot of powerful energy that pools up in that area and when you go into a convergent space, you can feel it. You get goosebumps—” She held up her arms and Adam did the same, both limbs showing prickled skin, “—and a feeling of wakefulness. No need for coffee in these areas,” said Anathema.

Adam rubbed his chin. “Huh, you’re right. I don’t feel tired at all, and we had to interact with international drug dealers today, that was pretty stressful.”

“Exactly,” she affirmed. “And you wanna know something cool?” Adam nodded. She leaned forward conspiratorially and Adam mirrored her. “Stonehenge is built on one of these spaces.”

“That’s wild,” breathed Adam.

“I know right.”

Adam opened his mouth, but then there was the sound of music. Drums beating, a rising chant twirling through the trees and filtering through the whole forest, a sort of electric energy. The two teenagers looked at each other before promptly standing and running towards the noise the best one can run through dark and strange woods with only a phone flashlight.

They came to a clearing and Anathema ducked down to hide in the shrubbery. She grabbed Adam’s arm and yanked him down to crouch with her when it became clear he was just going to stand in clear view where anyone could see him. They shared a brief glaring match before turning their eyes to the scene at hand.

And what a scene it was.

At least twenty people danced in varying states of undress, most with some sort of instrument, but a few just dancing with abandon. Anathema spied red solo cups, smelled the scent of sage, and heard the whooping one man was full-heartedly belting. She looked at Adam and he looked back. _ White people _, they agreed.

“I think Mr. Fell and James might kill each other with sexual tension if we aren’t there to diffuse,” Adam whispered, his eyes darting between the ax that was laying next to the bonfire in the center of the clearing and some of the large, drunk, white men.

Anathema tensed. “Yeah, let’s...let’s get out of here.” The music was no longer melodic, but instead, the overwhelming, whimsical siren call turned the howl of hunting dogs.

They started to edge out of the shrubbery. A stick cracked under Anathema’s heel.

“_ Shit.” _

The teens froze in place, but none of the adults seemed to have noticed the small sound over their chanting and drumming. They sighed and turned to leave slowly. They made it about a meter when Adam slipped, yelped, and fell into a slight ravine.

Some of the chanting paused. Most of the weirdos were too drunk to notice an eighteen-year-old tumble into a ditch, but a few were just sober enough.

“Hello?” One of the adults called out in a thick accent. The un-sloshed people edged away from the clearing and towards Anathema and Adam.

“Fuck,” Anathema hissed. She climbed down to Adam and hauled him up with one arm.

“Ow,” Adam groaned, and then said, “holy shit you’re strong.”

“Yes, I do boxing,” she replied offhandedly, currently preoccupied with getting both of them out of the ravine while several inebriated adults whose freaky forest thing they had interrupted were coming ever closer.

Anathema got to the level ground and as she looked back so she could pull Adam the rest of the way, she caught the eye of the adults. She stared at them fearfully, and they stared at her with disbelief and anger in their eyes.

One of them yelled something in French and Anathema wished she hadn’t left her bread knife at home. A half-dressed man started going down into the ditch to get to Anathema and Adam, and she yanked her brother up the rest way and dragged him along as she ran.

Adam’s heavy breath thrummed in her ear as he stumbled and cursed as he began to run, but eventually, he out legged her. For god’s sake, she was taller. Curse his athleticism.

Two of the chanters—another had followed the first—chased after them, shouting angrily in French and why couldn’t they have been smuggling drugs from a pretty island with beaches and crystal clear water instead of running from Canadian lunatics in the dark?

Anathema was starting to see the light of the RV park when Adam scooped up a stone and threw it backward. There was a scream of pain and flurry of what had to be French cursing. 

“Man, my mom must be feeling those insults,” Adam laughed breathily as he took her hand and they ran the rest of the way out of the forest.

…

  


“Anathema! Adam!” James called out worriedly. Aziraphale kept close to him as they walked toward the border of the park and in the direction of the scream.

“Children!” Aziraphale yelled, hands cupped around his mouth. They could be hurt, or worse, who knows what in those dreadful Canadian woods. Aziraphale’s eyebrows furrowed as James continued to yell for them. If anything happened to those teenagers Aziraphale wouldn’t be able to forgive himself, and of course, he wouldn’t be able to get the RV back to Gabriel if Anathema or Adam had gotten mauled by a bear or eaten by a puma. 

“Kids! Anathema, Adam, where are you?” James shouted into the woods, standing next to the nearest tree, hand nervously tapping against the trunk. 

There was a faint yelp and then James yowled, bowled over by two sprinting teenagers. They fell into a pile, Adam and Anathema panting and laughing, James groaning, and Aziraphale looking on from his safety of about three feet away.

“Jesus Christ,” James moaned. “My poor back.” 

Adam laughed again and, after he and Anathema clambered to their feet, offered James a hand up. Aziraphale caught himself smiling as James bemoaned the state of his organs after being flattened by some two-hundred pounds of train-wreck teenagers, and how was he ever supposed to be a good stripper if he couldn’t arch his back?

Aziraphale frowned and stepped forward. He nearly laid a hand on James’ shoulder, but instead said, “Yes, enough about your back, James.” The man did something to his face that could’ve been a pout if Aziraphale wasn’t resolutely not looking at him because he was focused on the two kids in front of him.

They were scraped up, their clothes were dirty, Anathema tore the knee of her jeans, their faces were red and bright even in the dim moonlight. Aziraphale opened his mouth to ask what on _ earth _had happened but—

“Do you two know how _ stupid _you are?”

Adam and Anathema were taken aback by his words and James had stiffened.

“You could have utterly destroyed this mission with your silly antics,” snapped Aziraphale. “This is a job, a _ very important _ job, that cannot be risked by this type of _ bullshit _!” He huffed. “Pardon my language.”

The teenagers stared at him with a combination of wide eyes—Adam—and slanted brow—Anathema—and after a moment, they walked away. Aziraphale rolled his eyes.

“Teenagers,” he muttered before making his way back to the RV. He was only vaguely aware of James trailing behind him, footsteps tender against the brittle grass.

When he arrived, the kids had already changed for bed and were occupying their time separately. Aziraphale turned to grab a snack from the fridge but startled to find James leaning against it. “Jesus Christ.”

“Sorry,” said James. The man was fidgeting and the lean was far too pronounced to be casual. “So, uh, what are we doing about the bed?”

“What about it?”

James pointed to the cabin above the driver and passenger seats to the queen-sized bed. Bed, singular. As in not plural, as in not two, as in Aziraphale would have to sleep in the same bed as James and—

“I’m going to stay up and read, I don’t sleep much. You can go ahead and take the bed,” Aziraphale told him.

James pursed his lips. “Uh, okay.” And then he pulled some clothing from his small suitcase and began to strip, thankfully out of view of the children. Aziraphale stared wide-eyed as a freckled expanse of soft, brown skin was revealed beneath the shrink-wrap fit of the suit. He caught the edge of something painterly on his right shoulder blade and Aziraphale hit his elbow on the doorframe in his haste to get out of the RV.

Aziraphale bit his lip and sat down on the chilly, metal fold-out stairs. He stared at his hands, dark and finely manicured, that held a plumpness made for reverently holding a fifteenth-century manuscript, but belied the strength of moving entire oak bookshelves by himself.

He looked up, at the shadowed expansiveness that smelled of pine and burnt logs and gasoline and further craned his neck to finally witness the stars glitter. Aziraphale had never seen the sky like this before, born and raised in cities and without any older masculine figure in his life who would have dragged him out camping, out from his blanket forts lit by a flashlight, out from the strain of his graduate studies, out from his cozy shroud of a bookshop, into the wild.

Aziraphale sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He fished out a cigarette and a metal zippo and watched as the smoke smothered the starlight.

* * *

**Day Three**  


“Are you alright, angel?”

Aziraphale startled, his head slip-dropping out his hand, and he jerked upright. “Huh?” He said very intelligently. He rubbed his eyes and stood up. What on earth had he slept on— oh.

He had turned and saw he was outside. He fell asleep on the RV’s fold-out steps, apparently, and James was standing in the doorway, holding a coffee mug. “Ah, yes, I’m quite alright, thank you,” said Aziraphale stiffly. He tapped his fingers against his thigh and shifted his weight as James didn’t move from his position in the doorway. The early sunlight caught the edges of the man’s face in a way that highlighted the scattering of freckles like thick constellations across his face and—

“Since when did you have freckles?”

James’ eyes widened and he sputtered. Aziraphale’s cheeks burned, but before he could stammer out an apology, James said, “Uh, I’ve always had freckles. I just cover them up.” The man shrugged as Aziraphale starred on. “I’ve been told some clients didn’t like them, and people always called me ‘Spots’ when I was a kid and well it’s never really been good and uh, ngk.” James looked like he was about to evaporate out of awkwardness for a second, but then he rightened himself and held the screen door open.

“Well, you coming in? The kids want Tim Horton’s for breakfast, whatever that is,” said James and he shoved the coffee mug into Aziraphale’s hands before vanishing inside.

Aziraphale blinked and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. He took a sip and relaxed. A jasmine tea blend, with honey. Aziraphale loved this type of tea, he hadn’t realized James still remembered what kind of tea he liked and—

The tea was burning against his lips and Aziraphale poured it out. As Aziraphale went into the RV, said good morning to Anathema and Adam, brushed his teeth, did a brief stretching routine for his neck, and pulled out of the RV park, the taste of jasmine lingered on his tongue.

…

  


Adam wouldn’t stop vibrating while in line for Tim Horton’s and it was driving Aziraphale mad.

“Adam, please,” repeated Aziraphale, and for a good, good minute, Adam calmed down. And then he was buzzing again. “Good lord,” he muttered into his hand as he rubbed his face.

“Hey kids, wanna give me your order and then go check out the big moose outside?” James suggested. Adam brightened and he and Anathema gave their fake-dad a very detailed list of what exactly to order them, as if neither adult had never ordered from a coffee shop before. Once the doorbell jingled as the door swung shut behind the teenagers, Aziraphale let out a large exhale. James laughed.

“I know right,” James lightly elbowed him, and Aziraphale snorted.

“If I had to watch Adam bounce in place while talking about a ‘secret menu’ for another second—” Aziraphale cut himself. “Well, it wouldn’t have been pleasant.”

James laughed again, but more abrupt bark of unexpectedly hearing something hilarious than the brief, chalkboard-nails of a polite laugh to something not funny but was meant to be some kind of joke by the speaker. Aziraphale preened.

“Honestly, if—”

“Bonjour, welcome to Tim Horton’s, how may I take your order, sir,” interrupted the bight-smiled, dead-eyes cashier.

Aziraphale blanked. “I, uh.”

James laid a hand on his shoulder, leaned around him, and rattled of an extensive list of food and drinks. Anytime the cashier looked flustered, he repeated back what he said until he saw the ordering screen change to match what he wanted. James then paid with a familiar credit card and dragged Aziraphale over to the pick-up area.

“We’ve probably got a good ten minutes or so before everything is ready,” Aziraphale’s fake-husband said, briefly looking him in the eye over the edge of his sunnies—which James had taken to with an affinity he had not been expecting—and handing Aziraphale the credit card before whipping his phone out.

Aziraphale stared at the credit card pinched in between his thumb and forefinger and recognized his name on it. 

What on earth.

“What on earth?”

“What?”

“Well,” said Aziraphale. “How did you pay with my credit card?”

James raised his eyebrows. “I took it out of your wallet?”

“_ When? _”

“Uh,” James cocked his head in a way that exposed a long line of neck. The freckles Aziraphale had seen there earlier were gone. “I think when we got out of the camper? I’m not entirely sure, to be honest.”

Aziraphale squinted. “You just…took it...from my wallet.” James nodded slowly. “Unbelievable,” muttered Aziraphale. “You’re a criminal in so many ways it is shocking that you’re here instead of behind bars.”

“Aziraphale, I’m here for _ your _ criminal venture. I’m helping _ you _ out. This is your thing, not mine. For the things we’ve done, we should both be serving time.” James’ face was scrunched up and there was an acrid undertone to his voice. “In fact, you’ve been shady way longer than I’ve been, yet you’re like _ this _ , nose in the air, refusing to even _ acknowledge _—”

“Order zero-six-sixty-six ready!”

James shut his mouth with a clack of his teeth. He gave Aziraphale a long stare, undecipherable from behind the tourist sunglasses, and picked up their order. He walked a short bit off, dropped the food and drinks on the table with the grace of a waiter, and went towards the door. To tell the kids, Aziraphale presumed.

He meandered his way to where James put down everything and sat down. Aziraphale pulled out the only hot drink from the four-cup container and took a long sip. Honey, and earl grey. He slammed the tea onto the table and slid out of the booth and the next time he blinked he was in a grey bathroom stall, staring at the white floor tiling.

Aziraphale chewed his lip thoroughly, went to light up a cigarette—damn the fact that he was in a restaurant—and found that his pack was empty, and, eventually, came out of the stall. Adam looked up from where he was seated on the ground in front of his stall. “Oh,” he said.

“Hey, Mr. Fell,” Adam replied. He clambered up to his feet. “Are you feeling better?”

“I was always fine, dear boy, but thank you for asking,” the words poured out of his mouth without cranial input. Aziraphale walked around the boy to the sink and turned the cold handle on. It was blisteringly frigid. He stuck his hands in and left them there for a minute, avoiding Adam’s eyes in the mirror reflection. Aziraphale rubbed his hands on the front of his trousers and exited the bathroom, Adam trailing behind.

He looked around the chain restaurant and didn’t see Anathema or James. “They’re outside, already,” Adam said from behind. They went outside. Aziraphale spotted the rest of the group immediately.

Anathema, still wearing her sleep shirt and with her hair let down in loose waves, was sitting on the RV fold-out steps with her giant, weathered book in her lap. James now wore mid-calf shorts, trainers, and a windbreaker. His sunnies were perched on the tip of his nose and his curly hair fell in array as his head bent to look at his phone.

Aziraphale felt grimy in his clothes, having put them on a night, a drug pick-up, hours of driving, and a plane flight earlier. “James,” he called out as he and Adam approached the RV. “I need you to drive.” He could feel the teenagers staring at him and he nearly sweatdropped.

“Sure,” replied James.

“Thank you.”

“No problem. Catch.” A small object was tossed to Aziraphale, who fumbled but caught it. He turned it around and saw a different cigarette brand from what he was used to. He looked up and saw James scuffing the toes of his shoes into the dirt while looking intently at the screen of his phone. 

“They didn’t have your brand, so I got you mine. You like mine, right?” James did not look up as he said this. And as Aziraphale told James the brand was fine, he had the image of a windy park day playing out behind his eyes.

…

James drove for the rest of the day. He knew Aziraphale had only meant for a little bit, but he kept driving even after the man changed into a soft grey cardigan and loose slacks that looked worn in the knee. James glanced at Aziraphale from the corner of his eye for a moment—took in the way the light played on the edges of the book pages and curve of Aziraphale’s fingers and hand and how it danced on his black hair, making it shine just a little and the crease of the brow and the pinch of the half-smile the was only ever directed at something literary—and James looked back at the road.

He still had six hours to drive before they stopped for the night. James sighed and cracked his neck, popping the silence that laid heavy over the camper. It was going to be a long month.  


**Author's Note:**

> hey thanks for reading this guys. this fic, as thus planned, will prob be over 100k by the time its done, so like, oof, but also, can i get a wahoo?  
anyway, hmu fan-art-ic.tumblr.com/ask if you wanna talk about this or really anything, i love chatting


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